"These loud ancestral boasts of yours, "Good sir," I said, "you seem much stirred; The sacred compromises -" "Now God confound the dastard word! That you, your conscience blinding, ""T is shame to see such painted sticks To see your spirit of Seventy-six To shout applause, as, with a crack, "We forefathers to such a rout! No, by my faith in God's word!” Half rose the ghost, and half drew out The ghost of his old broadsword, Then thrust it slowly back again, And said, with reverent gesture, "No, Freedom, no! blood should not stain The hem of thy white vesture. "I feel the soul in me draw near The streaks of first forewarning, "Child of our travail and our woe, I hear great steps, that through the shade And voices call like that which bade The prophet come up higher." I looked, no form mine eyes could find, Some Pilgrim-stuff that hates all sham, THE COURTIN'. OD makes sech nights, all white an Fur 'z you can look or listen, Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown A fireplace filled the room's one side There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) To bake ye to a puddin'. The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, The ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther Young The very room, coz she was in, Seemed warm from floor to ceilin', 'T was kin' o' kingdom-come to look A dogrose blushin' to a brook He was six foot o' man, A 1, None could n't quicker pitch a ton He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, Hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em, Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells — All is, he could n't love 'em. But long o' her his veins 'ould run She thought no v'ice hed sech a swing My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring, An' she 'd blush scarlet, right in prayer, Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! She seemed to 've gut a new soul, |